Dufferin Islands in Niagara Falls

January 2011

On a fresh, January afternoon last year, we went to Dufferin Islands with a peanut bottle filled with birdseed, a thermos filled with hot chocolate, and cameras filled with... available SD card space? (not quite as romantic as film, is it?) But we were prepared. I admit I was a little skeptical towards claims that birds would trust us enough to land on our mittens, but on such a bright, frosted day I really didn't want to be anywhere else.

My son trudged along the feathery path that must have seemed endless to him in the sea of whiteness. I am somewhat disappointed that my kids don't exhibit the enthusiasm and energy to play in the snow that I did when I was their age. In their defence, you can't really get into the allure of a polar climate around here. It's a pretty fleeting concept... illustrated by the fact that this weekend's offering is the most it's felt like winter since winter's exit last year!! Growing up in Labrador, Newfoundland, we knew what to expect temperature-wise and precipitation-wise, and we never had to wonder what form our precipitation would take. It was dependable. Once we were in the sub-zero groove, we were ready for it, and could adjust accordingly. We would go out, properly dressed to shield our tender skin from the biting cold, and play until lunch... or supper, depending on which quadrant of the day it was. I suppose I must have complained at the weather at one time or another, but it wasn't the norm. And I don't remember it being difficult to find something to do. We just allowed ourselves and our imagination to be swept up in winter's magical metamorphosis. We trusted it.

My kids have become victim to the information age taunting them with the next big technological wonder. Instead of marvelling at the glimmering uniqueness of a single snowflake, they marvel at the flickering possibilities of a single pixel. I'm not saying it's anyone's fault, it's just evolution... and it's happening to everyone, not just children. But I know this: I remember my childhood. I wonder how much today's children will remember of theirs... will they be able to discern what was real as opposed to what happened virtually? Will they hold specific experiences close to their heart or will it all meld together?

It is because of our synthetic world and its pull to keep my kids indoors when it's cold out that I seize any opportunity to expose them to special moments in the snow. It only took a few moments of patience and a still, flat, mitted palm to entice a nuthatch to perch for a snack. This wasn't a staged event or a trained creature; it was real and magical and awesome... it induced awe in my son... so much so that he still talks about that afternoon when the birds ate seeds from his hand.

How many differences can you spot?
Manhattan Skyline

October 2010

October 2011

These photos were taken exactly one year apart. Last October, I gazed at Manhattan's awesome skyline in the bright autumn sunshine and revelled in all its metropolitan glory. But since my first trip to New York City occured many years after the September 11 attacks, I was only able to imagine, not remember, how it would have looked with its twin towers standing tall over everything else. Locals probably look at this expanse and see the void. I see something fantastic.. a view that differs immensely from the reserved buildings that exist near my own address... I'm aware that there is a void but I'm not missing it firsthand.

I realised on my most recent jaunt to the Big Apple that I am now witness to the reconstruction of Manhattan's skyline. I have captured an image of the interim. Like seedlings pressing up out of the soil and towards the sun, the structures of the World Trade Centre are slowly growing out of the flattened earth. Not recreations of the originals that, like the lives who were lost along with them, can never be replaced. But the next generation, if you will. What was once twin towers will now be four relatively modest towers - two of which are already visible in my second picture above. And at the site itself, a sad, gnarled, crippled frame has been replaced by a smooth, placid waterfall eliciting a shared sense of calm.

It is intriguing to have recorded evidence of such a transformation and I look forward to seeing the next chapter when I am once again visiting the great, tenacious New York borough that is Manhattan.

My beautiful Aunt Claudia was all about the good things in life. She was the type of person who always set out her most elegant table settings for a special occasion... like for example an overcast Tuesday afternoon in May. This is because her regular, every day table settings were elegant, and every single day was considered a special occasion. A simple lunch for visiting family included homemade pastries, freshly prepared salad with crisp lettuce and a selection of dressings, including Russian, for those guests who happen to enjoy Russian dressing. Even when I was very young and perhaps didn't fully appreciate the details, I always felt special when I sat down at her table, as if I were as important as any guest she'd ever had join her there.

Everything about my aunt was quality and class, but she was also incredibly genuine and down to earth. She valued her friends, many of whom she had retained since her childhood school days, and strived to keep in touch with them often. She never skimped on the important details, but she never seemed bothered if something didn't work out as planned or if cranberry juice were spilled on the tablecloth.

Still, I always remember feeling as if I ought to remember my manners a little more acutely while I was there. Boldly patterned walls and curtains, plush, pristine carpeting, and a grand piano contributed to a home that just seemed to command respect. Exquisite art adorned every room, including original paintings by my grandmother and by my Dad (her brother), and prints created by her childhood friend, Christopher Pratt and Mary Pratt as well.

One of my favourite memories took place in June of 2006 when Aunt Claudia invited my Dad and me to attend an opening of Christopher Pratt's exhibit at The Rooms Provincial Art Gallery. During the reception, she purchased two copies of the artist's most recent collection of work, and handed one of them to me with a smile but without explanation, as if she just knew how much I would have loved to have it.

I greatly enjoyed the relationship I shared with my aunt; I've always felt like we shared a love of culture, words and art. My entire life, I spent at most two weeks out of the year in the same city as her but those visits helped shape who I am as a Newfoundlander. I can't say Pippy Park, Duckworth Street, or Quidi Vidi (either pronunciation) without hearing her own voice speaking these place names. Whether we were visiting with her and my Uncle Frank at their home in St. John's, or out at their cabin in Manuels, Conception Bay South, where the two photographs I've posted here were taken, we were always treated to a scrumptious meal and spirited conversation, with lots of compliments, lots of hugging, and lots of love.

Claudia O'Connor 1935-2012

Where will you go and what will you do with your new year?

Broadway and Murray Street, New York City - April 2011

"If you don't like something, change it. If you can't change it, change your attitude."
~ Maya Angelou

I am of the belief that each person is in control of his or her own actions and by extension, his or her own future. If you are unhappy with the location of the most recently placed pin on your map, it's time to do something. Time, which is defined this weekend by the flipping not just of the page, but of the entire calendar! It's out of there! Put up a new one! We're on the brink of a new year and another chance to change our lives and set off in a fresh, new direction! And the best part is... we get to choose which direction that is!

Yes, I am a flag-waving, hand-clapping, sole-stomping fan of New Year's resolutions! I love the buildup and mental preparation involved with deciding which things I intend to realign in the new year. I don't commit to anything groundbreaking, but I do make them relevant and attainable and enjoyable. Why tell myself to do something I don't enjoy? I know that I genuinely revel in nourishing my love affair with words by tending to this blog, so I strive to write more often. I know I feel fabulous when I eat fresh produce and that I am at my strongest physically and mentally when I'm running so I will recommit to this, now that the time sucking (albeit enjoyable) Christmas preparations are no longer dominating my lunch hour.

Now I don't beat myself up over the fact that I typically resolve to change things in my life that "should" be natural or that I "should" already be doing (such as spending more quality time with my kids and remaining calm when things don't work out the way I'd expected) nor do I get twisted up over writing down some of the same intentions as I did last year or the year before that (consume more nutrient rich foods more often)! I simply enjoy the process of polishing off my moxie and allowing it to forge ahead into a fresh new year and see what happens while occassionaly consulting my list of New Year's resolutions!

Besides, when it comes to changing habits and swapping out the details in your life with something more beneficial, I believe that you haven't given up until you've stopped trying. Make a list of things you WILL do... as opposed to things you want to do (it's not difficult to WANT something, after all! and doesn't really effect change!). Then set out to make the daily changes as if you're already doing it. (rather than "I want to eat better" or "I will try to eat better", state it as: "I eat well every day." and then you will be more likely to ensure this statement is true!

Happy New Year to whoever may be reading this! However you ring in the new year, be sure to do it with someone you care about (if you can't be together, pick up the phone and call!) and have fun!!

View from CN Tower

"You see, boys, the world looks much different from up here."

Robin Williams as John Keating in Dead Poet's Society

My kids would talk about wanting to go up in the CN Tower on occasion, even going as far as to state they would stand on its glass floor, but I knew it was just aimless proclamation. We had once attempted to visit the Skylon Tower (and venture higher than its midway game level!) but my oldest held back and admitted that he was too nervous to go to the top, so we both knew that the CN Tower was out of the question. Talk about being aware of your limitations!

It was in May of 2009 that we finally let one of those famous yellow pods whisk us up the 775 feet to the top of the Skylon. The experience of looking down at Niagara Falls and other familiar venues in this illustrious city proved to incite excitement, not trepidation, so I knew they'd be fine going even higher up.

So three months later, on a molten August afternoon, we ascended another 360 feet into Ontario's sky to drink in the sweeping view of Toronto. It proved to be a wonderful experience, right from the beginning. 2009 was the first year that the GO Train provided weekend service from Niagara Falls to Toronto so, as an alternative to driving to a city which was, at that time, relatively unfamiliar to me, we parked at the St. Catharines Via Station and I got to sit back and relax the whole way!

The lineup to secure a spot in one of this tower's pods felt as long as its ascension. I was slightly annoyed at myself for failing to anticipate this... with minimal diversion paraphernalia, it proved to be the only taxing portion of the whole trip. I don't remember exactly how taxing... I just recall that it was a long time for little people to stand in one spot and wait their turn!

But I do remember the rush of wonder that befell their faces upon looking through one of those panes of glass. I was mesmerized myself, only having been up there once before when I was a teenager, so I can't imagine what it must have been like for children whose highest views were typically realised by climbing the steps of a playground slide! We sat at this spot for a long time, our eyes skipping along the tops of office buildings and following insect-like vehicles along ruler-like streets, and even bearing witness to an aerial proposal!

When we followed the steps up to the next level, however, the flame was abruptly extinguished as my oldest caught a glimpse of the glass floor. It was as if reality hit him and he became blazingly aware of how high we were actually standing! My youngest thought it was cool, and when he realised how nervous his brother was, it became even cooler! He sprawled out and looked up at us, which even made my legs a little jittery. The location of my feet in this picture illustrates how much of the the glass I allowed my feet to cover... I wasn't too comfortable with the imagery myself. But my oldest was done. It was suddenly time to go! I guess sometimes the excursion out of our comfort zone is best experienced through a window that is in a position that is familiar to our eyes!

Divinity on the Avenue

While zigzagging around New York City last October, I walked to Central Park by way of the Avenue of the Americas when these two massive creatures, reminiscent of Venus de Milo, intrigued me with their stature at W52nd Street. I stood there looking up at them, their gnarled exterior both grotesque and stimulating, their postures fine examples of that sexy effeminate S-curve, their bronze forms rising out of a paper thin pool of water for all to see. I remember pulling out my faithful notebook and recording the intersection for this one, because I knew I'd want to look it up later! I could just gaze at these imposing ladies for hours... these two and their friend on the other side of the building.

Whenever I'm on a photographic adventure to an unfamiliar city, I ensure that I take a few shots of intersecting street signs along the way so that I can retrace my route on Google Maps upon my return. I vigorously maintain the order of pictures on my SD card for this reason as well, just because I take so many and I like to know what it is that I've captured.

This image initially posed somewhat of a challenge for me to identify. I knew which street they were on, but I couldn't seem to pull them out of any of my online searches. All my efforts seemed to be monopolised by another familiar Sixth Avenue creation, Robert Indiana's LOVE sculpture, with which I was familiar, but not as enthralled... evidenced by the amount of love it received from my lens:

Back to the Venus statues, I did find their exact location on the satellite view of Google Maps. I like being able to see the footprint of the statues, each one living inside of squares on either side of the building:

credit: Google Maps

However, I still didn't know what they were called. I was telling a girlfriend of mine (who happens to vivaciously share my love of Manhattan) about this image I wanted to post, and she reminded me of the option of searching using "Images" instead of "Web". Of course! I had forgotten about that option! So I am happy to report that I have since learned that the sculptures in my photo are entitled Looking Toward the Avenue by Jim Dine. Pleasure to meet you, ladies!

       

 

Fence between The Kirk and The Rooms

Harvey Road, St. John's, NL

Every morning upon awakening, Mr. Lister would shudder at the thought of the task awaiting his attention in the back yard. Burdened with undesireable responsibility, he sulked in his morning shower, rolled his eyes at his dilatory reflection in the mirrored medicine cabinet, and wrung his hands as he puttered down the hall towards the kitchen. He purposely left his faded yellow curtains drawn so that he was not immediately reminded. But his intentions were futile: the neglected task was all but screaming into his hairy ears because he could think of nothing else.

"Paint me! Paint me!! PAINT ME!!!"

When he had acquired his modest but cozy bungalow a few years back, he thought nothing of the abandoned steel fence that spanned the width of his property, tenaciously retaining its bordering function, as archaic and rusted as his own spirit. He decided that the interior of the house provided sufficient coverage from the ravaging Newfoundland climate... a place to watch television, a place to assemble a sandwich, a place to lay his head... it had everything he needed! He had no intentions of ever penetrating the backyard anyway.

But over time, its posture became more evident. He began to see those ruddy posts waving at him, taunting him like every other task he chose to ignore since he retired four years ago. He had become a crabby, lonely replica of the man he used to be, and with nobody in his life to keep him in check, he just accepted whatever mood befell him on any given day.

But then, his self-depreciating attention was kidnapped by the stunningly sweet lady who moved into the old Marsden place next door. He didn't think anyone would ever move in there, much less a witty, capable widow with a zest for life and a flare for landscaping. She introduced herself as Arianna as she deftly trimmed away the overgrown yews that divided her property with his. He would step out onto his porch for his newspaper and find himself lingering in anticipation of a wave or a greeting. His quick darts into the dewy mornings became longer and longer such that he would actually engage her in conversation. Over time, his eyebrows began to lift and the little crook that had been wedged between his eyes had all but disappeared.

He decided that he wanted to brighten up his home and brought in some of the daisies that were growing along his yard, persisting every summer in spite of his grumbling and ignorance. Finally, he wanted to enjoy their abundance and share in their cheerfulness. He was preparing to invite Arianna over for a coffee. He surveyed his humble kitchen and decided that it was acceptable, especially with the happy bunch of flowers perched in a vase in the middle of the table. 

And so it came that on one particularly sunny morning, he unwittingly threw open his kitchen curtains and he saw that which he had been avoiding so feverishly. But it didn't stir up disdain, it created a feeling that had been hibernating for so long that it almost jolted him with its intensity: he felt motivation! He no longer wanted to avoid the onerous task, he wanted to tackle the job and feel satisfaction. And he wanted to see a bold red fence waving at him from his backyard upon awakening every single morning, as quirky and charismatic as his new appreciation for his address... and for life. And so he knew just what he had to do: Paint it.